


Your Injuries Belong to Me

by duskblue



Series: Irondad Bingo 2019 [16]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Descriptions of wounds, Don't tell aunt may, Fluff, Gen, Happy Hogan is not happy, Hurt/Comfort, Iron Man Bingo 2019, Medical Doctor Bruce Banner, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Needle Phobia, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, The trope is Gala, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump, but this is really a whump fic, so come for the gala stay for the whump?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24742159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskblue/pseuds/duskblue
Summary: Peter is hurt on patrol, and while he usually heals up quickly, this time… not so much. Unfortunately, he’s scheduled to attend a Stark Industries Gala the following night, so he’s just going to have to grin and bear it. He’ll do anything to get through the evening without disappointing Mr Stark. Even if it means hiding what could be a serious injury.Note: Written to satisfy the "Gala/Press Conference" bingo square for my Iron Dad Bingo card.
Relationships: Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Irondad Bingo 2019 [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1326146
Comments: 23
Kudos: 461
Collections: Iron Dad Bingo





	Your Injuries Belong to Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I got one more down! I hope you like this one. This is a little whump, a little bit of angst, and probably a lot of fluff. Please let me know what you think! <3
> 
> Come bother me on tumblr?? my name there is: duskblue-art

“Are you sweating?”

Peter puts his hand to his forehead, and sure enough, beads of sweat are there. He wipes his face with his sleeve and tries not to look Ned in the eyes. “Huh,” he says like it’s no big deal. “I guess I am. They must have the heat turned up too high.” 

“I’ve been freezing all day! It’s like this place forgot it was March and turned the AC on,” Ned says, trying to get Peter to meet his eye while they walk down the hallway towards their lockers. “And don’t you usually run on the cold side?”

“Yeah, usually.” Peter reaches for his lock when they finally reach their destination and tries to catch his breath before putting in his combination. What he doesn’t want to tell his best friend is that he got a cut on his side from landing on a jagged fence last night. The thing had sliced right through the reinforced material of his suit and into his skin. He was used to cuts and bruises, and they usually healed right up so it really wasn’t a big deal. Only, when he woke up this morning, it wasn’t almost healed like it usually was. Instead, the cut was red and painful and didn’t look so good. 

“Peter—” Ned says when Peter’s locker pops open.

“I’m fine, Ned. It’s nothing.”

“See, when you say it’s nothing, that’s like code for it clearly being something. Are you sick? Did some evil villain pump some poisonous gas in the air and now you’re having weird symptoms?”

Peter grabs the books he needs for over the weekend and shoves them in his bag. “That was one time. And no, I’m not sick either.”

“Are you going to make me guess until I get it right? Because I have like five more ideas. The first one is—”

Peter pulls up the hem of his shirt just a little so Ned can see the cut. “See? It’s nothing.” He quickly lowers it before any other kid can catch a glimpse. If MJ were here, she would grab him by the collar and drag him to the nurse’s office herself. Only, he can’t deny that it definitely looks worse than it did this morning. A yellow fluid is starting to ooze out of it, and some of it even got on his shirt. That’s probably not a good sign.

Ned’s jaw has fallen open, and it takes him a few seconds to close it. “I’m not a doctor or anything, but I think that’s infected. Maybe you should tell Mr Stark.”

“I can’t.” Peter shuts his locker and snaps the lock back on. “Remember that gala I told you about?”

Ned’s eyes light up. “Yeah, the totally awesome one with all the cool tech guys where there’s for sure going to be tons of delicious food? I remember.”

“Well, that’s tonight.” Peter picks up his backpack and carefully slings it back over his shoulder. His whole side hurts now. “It’s super important that Mr Stark goes to it, and he’s going to talk about something we worked on together, so I kind of have to be there, too. If I tell him about this, he’s going to send me to the med-bay, and then the whole thing will be ruined. I can’t do that to him. He’s counting on me.”

Ned finishes grabbing his things and closes his locker door as well. “But what if it’s serious?”

“I’ll tell him afterwards,” Peter says, but honestly, he’s hoping his body will kick into healing mode, and he won’t have to. If Mr Stark finds out he’s been hiding an injury—again—then he might be in even more trouble.

They’re walking towards the exit when Ned grabs his arm and says, “Promise me you’ll tell him, Peter.”

“Okay.” Peter hesitates. “I promise. I’ll text you later, Ned, alright? I gotta go though. Happy’s waiting for me.”

“I’m seriously calling Mr Stark if I don’t hear from you,” Ned says just as Peter’s about to say goodbye and make his way towards Happy’s car that’s waiting in the parking lot.

Peter stops in his tracks and turns to him. “What? How did you get Mr Stark’s number?”

Ned’s face turns bright red, and he grins a guilty grin. “Oh. Um, I don’t think I was supposed to tell you about that. Can you maybe not mention this conversation to Mr Stark?”

Peter isn’t stupid. He knows why Mr Stark would give his number to Ned, and he doesn’t like it. That means they were talking about him behind his back like he can’t watch out for himself. Ridiculous. He is literally the only one of them with actual super powers. He doesn’t know why no one trusts him. Then again, there’s nothing he can do about it. Even if he complains to Mr Stark, he doubts that would change things. “Fine,” he says, feeling even more annoyed. “Whatever. You’ll hear from me. I just want you to know that this is super annoying.”

Peter hurries to say goodbye to Ned and then rushes as fast as he can--which let’s admit, is much slower than normal--to Happy’s car. He’s breathing hard and wiping the sweat from his brow when he climbs into the backseat of Happy’s car. 

“What, were you running a marathon?” Happy says as he makes his way through all the other cars in the parking lot. 

“I’m just kind of tired today,” Peter says, carefully buckling himself into his seat. The seat belt rubs against his wound, so he scoots into the middle and puts on the lap belt there instead.

“Why are you sitting in the middle?”

Peter does his best to smile. “I can talk to you better this way.”

Happy’s eyes look unamused in the rearview mirror. In less than a second, the partition begins to go up. Peter would normally send him a text that said, _Rude!!_ but this time, he just wants to rest. In rush hour traffic, it might take a little bit to get to Manhattan, so he carefully lies down on the seat, using his backpack as a pillow, and closes his eyes.

~*~

“What did you do to him?”

“Me? I didn’t do anything!”

“Well, why didn’t you wake him up and tell him to meet me upstairs?”

“Look, Tony, I do this as a favor to you. In case you forgot, I’m not your chauffeur anymore. I’m even less of a babysitter. So when your kid falls asleep, you get to carry him upstairs. Not me. Besides, I tried to wake him up. He just mumbled something and pulled his hoodie over his eyes.”

“Amateur.” 

Peter feels rough fingertips brush against his cheek as his hood is peeled away from his face. He wants to protest, but he’s too tired to move. His body feels like it’s lying on a bunch of rocks. Everything hurts.

“Hey, Pete,” Mr Stark says, brushing away some sweaty curls from his forehead. “You okay in there? Rough week?” He pauses. “Geez, Hap, were you blasting the heat in here? Kid is sweating!”

“No, I had it at a normal temp!” Happy’s voice says a little farther away.

Peter groans when Mr Stark pats his cheek. “I’m up, I’m up,” he says, struggling to lift his head from his hard backpack. Maybe a nap was a bad idea. Now he feels like death, and Mr Stark is leaning into the car and staring at him. That makes his chances of hiding his injury lower.

“Are you okay?” Mr Stark asks, pulling at the backpack so Peter can get out on that side. It’s so heavy that it almost falls to the ground. “How in the hell do normal kids carry these things around?” 

Peter rolls with his distraction so he doesn’t have to answer the first question Mr Stark asked. “Most kids probably don’t take as many classes I do. I’ve got two papers to work on and a few lab reports to write up this weekend.” His body really needs to kick his healing into gear fast so he can get all that stuff done. But first, he needs to get out of the car. 

Mr Stark and Happy are waiting on the sidewalk, looking in at him with concerned faces.

“Are you sick?” Mr Stark asks when Peter finally emerges from the car. He puts one hand on Peter’s forehead and the other on Happy’s. 

Happy’s face looks like he wouldn’t be putting up with it if anyone other than Tony Stark had touched him. “Can I go now?” 

“Yes, fine. Go.” Mr Stark says, giving Happy a little shove while he puts his arm around Peter’s shoulders and pulls him in close. “I think you have a fever,” he says. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Maybe I’m coming down with a cold or something,” Peter says, picking his backpack up from the ground and letting Mr Stark lead him into the building. The lie sounds much better than the truth. Mr Stark can’t blame him for having a cold, but he can blame him for falling on a rusty fence and then neglecting to tell him about it for almost twenty-four hours while the wound festers. 

“I’m going to get you your super Tylenol, and then you’re going to eat something and rest up a little before the gala. Hopefully you’ll feel better in a few hours, huh?”

“I hope so,” Peter says sincerely while they step in the elevator. He waits until it starts ascending towards Mr Stark’s penthouse and then says in a quiet voice, “I’m not really hungry though.”

“What?” Mr Stark really does sound surprised. “You must really be sick. What sounds good? I’ll make sure you get whatever it is you want.”

“I don’t know.” The elevator dings at their floor, and Peter lets Mr Stark lead him into the penthouse. He definitely doesn’t want to throw up everywhere. It’s been a while since he puked, but he isn’t interested in tempting fate. “Maybe some toast?” he finally says.

Mr Stark leads him right to the guest room which has basically been Peter’s. “Get some rest. I’ll bring your toast and meds in a few minutes, okay?”

“Okay, thanks, Mr Stark.” Peter lets his heavy backpack fall to the floor with a thump and then kicks off his shoes so he can crawl right into bed. It’s not until he’s face first on a pillow that it hits him that Mr Stark isn’t all that different from May. On a day where he was feeling better, he probably would have been freaking out a little. After all, as far as he knows, he’s the only kid Mr Stark has made toast for.

~*~

After forcing down the toast, some juice, two Super Tylenol capsules courtesy of Dr Banner, and then sleeping hard for two hours, Peter feels a little better when FRIDAY wakes him up. He checks his wound in the bathroom, but it doesn’t look like it’s improved at all. On the positive side, it doesn’t really look any worse either, so Peter figures he can make it through the gala. If it’s not any better by the end of the night, then he’ll tell Mr Stark. 

“Peter,” FRIDAY says when he walks out of the bathroom. “Mr Stark put your suit in the closet. He says to get dressed and meet him in the living room.”

“Okay,” Peter agrees. “On it.”

He finds the suit, which he’s sure cost more than his and May’s monthly rent, and pulls it into the bathroom. He doesn’t want FRIDAY to see the wound and tell on him, which she’ll probably do. That, and the shirt is white. The wound is draining, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he got it dirty. So he finds some band-aids in the medicine cabinet and carefully peels four of them onto the cut, making sure the sticky part doesn’t touch anything that looks too angry. 

Mr Stark is going to kill him.

Once he’s pretty sure that most of the drainage won’t escape the band-aids, he throws on the suit, tucks in the tails of his shirt and ties his tie as fast as he can. Before he exits the bathroom, he runs a wet comb through his hair and makes sure all the band-aid wrappers are in the trash.

By the time he gets to the living room, Mr Stark is waiting for him.

“There you are,” Mr Stark says. “Are you feeling better? You look a little better.” He puts his hand to Peter’s forehead. “FRIDAY, what’s his temp now?”

“It’s ninety-nine point eight,” FRIDAY replies. 

“Good.” Mr Stark undoes Peter’s tie and re-ties it properly, pulling it tight and making sure it’s straight. “You’re feeling up to this, right?”

As if Peter would let him down. “Yeah, Mr Stark. I’m feeling mostly better. Thanks for bringing me toast and stuff, but honestly, I thought my tie looked pretty good.”

Mr Stark straightens it one last time and then pats Peter on the shoulder. “Well, now it looks better. Ask me to show you sometime when we’re not already fashionably late.”

Peter blinks at him. “We’re _late_?”

“Fashionably late. Come on.” 

They make their way down to the garage where Happy is waiting for them, the driver's side window rolled down so they can both see his displeased expression.

“What’s this?” Mr Stark says, opening the back door while Peter slides in. “I thought you said you weren’t my chauffeur.”

“I’m not. He called in sick, and I guess I’m responsible for that, so…” Happy points his thumb towards the backseat. “Get in. You’re late.”

Mr Stark finally climbs in and shuts the door, and Happy makes his way out of the parking garage and onto the city streets. It’s dark now, and Peter wants to lie down on the seat and go back to sleep. But since Mr Stark is sharing the back seat with him, he can’t scoot over to the middle seat this time. So instead, he holds his hand under the seat belt so it doesn't press up against his painful side. By the time they pull up in front of the venue, his eyes are drooping, and Mr Stark has to nudge him awake.

“Is the kid okay?” Happy asks when Peter rouses.

“I think he’s getting a cold. He’ll be okay,” Mr Stark says. “Won’t you, Pete?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Peter quickly unbuckles himself. “Thanks, Happy!”

“We’ll probably leave after the presentation,” Mr Stark tells Happy. “I’ll text you when we’re ready. Should be two hours tops. So don’t go too far, alright?”

Happy agrees, and then Peter and Mr Stark step out of the car and make their way towards the back entrance of the venue, which isn’t very far, but it feels like forever with the pain that’s shooting up and down the entire right side of Peter’s body. While the medicine helped with his fever, it definitely didn’t do anything for the infection. He’s legit worried he may not make it through their presentation. What had Mr Stark said? Two hours? That’s not that long, is it? The bad news is that it’s becoming clear he’s going to have to tell Mr Stark what’s going on. Maybe he should have listened to Ned and told him earlier. There’s a chance he could have gotten treated before the gala and still made it. But now it’s too late for any of that. 

“Come on,” Mr Stark says, leading the way inside. “Let’s find our table so we can get you something to drink. And maybe something to eat if you’re feeling up to it.”

Peter has to work to keep up with him. “Okay.”

Mr Stark dodges several people trying to get his attention, using Peter as an excuse. “Kid needs some water. Excuse us.” As a result, they make it to their table in no time at all. It’s right up front by the stairs to the small stage that’s been set up so Mr Stark has direct access to the three steps to get onto it.

“Sit here,” he says, pulling a chair out for Peter. “I”m going to get you some water. The most important thing is to stay hydrated. Or that’s what everyone’s always telling me, anyway. Stay here!”

Before Peter can say anything, he runs off, and Peter turns to the table where an elderly couple are sipping glasses of wine. They’re looking at him like they’re not sure if he belongs there.

“Good evening,” the woman says, giving him a tight smile. “What’s your name?”

“Peter,” he says, thinking she looks a little like one of the old ladies he helps with her groceries in Queens on a regular basis. “I mean, good evening, my name is Peter Parker.”

She smiles. “Nice to meet you, Peter. I’m Mrs Elliot, and this is Mr Elliot. We came to see the presentation on the new SI solar energy design and possibly lend our support.”

Mr Elliot clears his throat. “Was that Tony Stark who said he was going to get you water and then ran off without saying hello?”

“Uh, yeah,” Peter looks in the direction Mr Stark ran off to and then turns back to the couple. “I actually helped him design the panels. They’re pretty cool. They only need about half the amount of UV light that a standard solar panel would need and churn out about five times as much energy. That means they work great in places that get really little sunlight.”

They’re both looking at him with a little shock when Mr Stark gets back to the table with two tall glasses of water. 

“Here you go,” he says, setting one down in front of Peter. “I asked. Dinner is served in an hour, but they’re already making the rounds with the hors devours.”

“Thanks,” Peter mumbles, but talk of food makes him feel uneasy. “This is Mr and Mrs Elliot, by the way.”

Mr Stark looks up at the elderly couple after he takes a seat beside Peter and begins to engage them in conversation. It quickly turns to the SI solar panels, and normally, Peter would participate, but he’s feeling pretty sore and lethargic, so he concentrates on sipping at his water. Mr Stark looks over at him every now and then, the concern apparent in his eyes, but he continues on with the conversation until more and more people begin filing into the room and then someone takes the stage to introduce a few speakers.

It’s all a blur to Peter. He feels so rotten, it’s hard to concentrate. But then Mr Stark is being called up on stage, so he tries to shake himself out of it. Mr Stark, of course, is doing fantastic. He’s making them laugh with several jokes, and he always knows just what to say to work the room. 

“But let’s get serious,” Mr Stark goes on, his eyes flicking to Peter. “I’m not here to tell jokes and make you laugh so hard the wine comes out your nose, though let’s admit that would be pretty hilarious. The reason I’m here is to talk about the complete redesign of our SI solar panels. Not only will they be more powerful and cost effective, but the co-designer is one of our brightest minds, my intern, Peter Parker. Stand up Peter and give the crowd a wave.”

Peter definitely doesn’t feel like standing up, but when Tony Stark tells you to stand up in a crowd filled with people decked out in formal wear, dammit, you stand up. Everyone is clapping while Peter tries not to show that he’s struggling to his feet. He’s about to take a breath of relief when his knees lock, only to find the world spinning uncontrollably. The next thing he knows, he’s on the floor.

“Move! _Move_!” Mr Stark’s panicked voice shouts. He’s still got the microphone on, so there’s an ear splitting screech that would hurt Peter’s sensitive ears on a good day. Today, which is not a good day, he puts his hands over his ears and tries not to cry. 

Strangers are standing over him asking him if he’s okay, but he’s so overwhelmed, that he doesn’t react until Mr Stark arrives, shoving people out of the way as he makes his way to Peter’s side.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says, biting his lip. 

Mr Stark rips off the microphone and hands it to some nearby lady. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head?” His hands come up to Peter’s head, feeling for any lumps or cuts. 

“I’ve had so many worse falls than this,” Peter says. “And no, I didn’t hit my head. But…” He pauses, swallowing hard. There are like fifty people in earshot of him that are waiting to see if he’s okay. He can’t tell Mr Stark here. “Can you call Happy? Maybe he can take me back while you finish up the presentation.”

“Nope,” Mr Stark says without another thought. “I mean, yes, I’m gonna call Happy, but these people are gonna have to take a raincheck on the presentation.”

The next ten minutes are a blur as they wait for Happy to arrive. Mr Stark assures everyone that Peter is fine and tells them he’s going to reschedule the presentation for a later date. Once Peter’s received a bunch of well wishes, they make their way down to the back entrance to finish waiting for Happy to return. Several gala stragglers are still around, so Peter bites his tongue. He’ll tell him when they get in the car. The longer he waits at this point, the angrier Mr Stark will be. 

“So,” Mr Stark says while the two of them lean up against the wall, side by side. “What was that sorry about? As far as I’m concerned, it’s my fault. I knew you were sick, and I should have made you stay home. I should have canceled the whole presentation right then and fed you chicken noodle soup instead.”

“Mr Stark...” Peter looks down at his shiny dress shoes. “There’s something I didn’t tell you about. But I think we should wait until we get in the car for me to tell you.”

Mr Stark pushes away from the wall, taking a few steps around so he’s facing Peter. “ _What_?” 

When Peter’s eyes rise to meet his mentor’s, he can see from the expression on Mr Stark’s face that he has a pretty good idea about the nature of what Peter didn’t tell him. Thankfully, Happy’s car pulls up and saves him from having to say anything right at that moment. 

Mr Stark deflates a little and goes to help Peter into the car. The second the seatbelts are on and Happy takes off, he turns to Peter. “Spill it. Now.”

“Spill what?” Happy asks from the front seat. 

“Not a drink, Hap,” Mr Stark says. “Peter’s been keeping something from me.” He looks back to Peter. “Well?”

Peter takes in a breath. “Please don’t be too mad. If I get hurt, it usually heals overnight, and I’m fine in the morning. When I saw it this morning, I thought maybe my body just needed a little longer this time? But then it kept getting worse, and then before I knew it, school was over and Happy was picking me up, and then I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to ruin your presentation, and I was so proud to be a part of it all. I didn’t want to disappoint you, Mr Stark.”

“Pete, the only thing I’m going to be disappointed about is you not telling me if you’re hurt. The presentation was postponed anyway, and everything’s fine. Who cares about all of that? I’m more concerned about you.” Mr Stark pauses and takes a fortifying breath. “Now let’s see the damage.”

Peter unbuckles his seatbelt and grips the bottom of his shirt, getting ready to pull the tails out from his pants. But before he does, he looks back up at Mr Stark. “Promise you won’t yell?”

Mr Stark sighs. “Fine. Just show me.”

So Peter pulls out the tails of his shirt and lifts it up enough so Mr Stark can see the disaster that is his bandaged covered, festering wound. 

Mr Stark’s face echoes the horror that he sees. “Jesus Christ, Peter! What’s with the band-aids?”

“It was draining, and I didn’t want it to get on the shirt,” Peter explains, but notices that a little did get on the shirt after all. “Do you think it will come off?”

“Happy?” Mr Stark puts his hand to his face and squeezes his eyes shut like he’s getting a migraine. “Change of plans. Take us to the compound. I’m going to call Bruce to make sure he’s there. Pete, don’t touch it! Your job of playing doctor is _over_.”

Peter has been trying to peel off a band-aid, but stops at Mr Stark’s command. “I’m sorry, Mr Stark.”

Mr Stark lifts his arm. “Scoot over here. I can’t be mad at you until I know you’re gonna be okay.”

Peter does as he’s told and lets Mr Stark put his arm around him and kiss the top of his head. He settles in for the ride to the compound, leaning his head against Mr Stark’s shoulder and trying to ignore the pain in his side. It doesn’t help that his fever is probably returning, but he does manage to fall into a fitful sleep.

~*~

Dr Banner is there to meet them at the med-bay entrance with a wheelchair. Peter is still feeling groggy from his nap in the car, so it’s not difficult to ignore the cross look on the doctor’s face. He doesn't even fight the wheelchair ride and lets Mr Stark help him remove his shirt and climb onto the gurney. By the time Dr Banner returns in gloves and a gown, Peter has a pillow under his head and a blanket pulled up to his chin. 

“Alright,” Dr Banner says, stepping up to the gurney and looking down at Peter. “Let’s see it.” 

Peter grips onto the blanket. “Let me admit in advance that the band-aids were a bad idea.”

“Oh, Lord,” Dr Banner says under his breath, tugging on the blanket until Peter relinquishes it.

Peter squeezes his eyes closed so he doesn't have to see Dr Banner’s expression. Seeing Mr Stark’s was bad enough, and he already feels horrible about the whole thing.

There’s a long pause, and then Dr Banner says, “Sit down, Tony. This is gonna be awhile. In the meantime, I’m going to start some IV antibiotics. We need to kick this infection. Peter, what is the cut from?”

Peter blinks open his eyes. “A fence. It was a little rusty.”

“Okay, so let’s make sure your tetanus is updated while we’re at it,” Dr Banner says. “Hang tight. I’m going to go grab everything we’ll need.”

Once Dr Banner turns and leaves the room, Peter looks over at Mr Stark. “Did he say an IV? Can’t I just swallow some pills or something?”

Mr Stark takes hold of a chair by the wall and pulls it over to Peter’s bed, sitting down beside him. “I think we should listen to what the doctor says so you can get better as soon as possible. Don’t you think?”

“I guess,” Peter says with a sigh.

“Think you can suck it up this time?”

Peter sticks out his lower lip. He’s not sure what will happen if he doesn't listen to Dr Banner. It’s not like his body is doing a stellar job of healing this wound, anyway. “I don’t think I really have a choice.”

“Nope.” Mr Stark stands up and holds his phone up to take a photo of Peter’s infected side.

Peter reaches for the blanket and pulls it up, frowning. “I didn’t give you permission to take photographs.”

“Your injuries belong to me,” Mr Stark says, sitting back down and looking at his phone. “Ask your aunt.”

Peter believes him, so he doesn’t fight it. “Fine, but what are you gonna use it for?”

Mr Stark begins tapping something out on his phone. Hopefully he’s not planning on showing anyone. Especially Aunt May. “I don’t know,” he says, not looking up from the phone. “I'm making a list. Wanna hear it?”

Does he?

Before Peter can answer, Mr Stark goes on, “One. I never know when I might need some good blackmail. Two. I might blow it up and hang it in the lab to use as inspiration when I’m adding a million more features to your suit. Three—”

“Stop!” Peter says. “Just please don’t send it to Aunt May. She’s gonna kill me if she knows how bad this is.”

Mr Stark’s eyes meet his from over the phone. “Buddy, your aunt and I kind of have a deal about this stuff. No secrets. But I value your life, so we’ll wait till you’re all fixed up before we tell her.”

Peter breathes. Mr Stark is going to make sure everything is okay. May won’t end up killing him. Everything is going to be alright. Well, as alright as it can be with a festering wound on his side. “Thanks, I guess,” he says. “I swear, this has never happened before. It usually heals right up and it’s not an issue. If I knew it was going to be this bad I would have told you.”

Mr Stark pats his shoulder just as Dr Banner walks back in with his arm filled with medical supplies. He dumps them out on a metal table beside Peter’s bed and then reaches for a fresh pair of gloves. 

“Alright,” he says, nudging over a stool on wheels with his knee and sitting down beside the bed. “First thing’s first. The IV. I know you hate needles, Peter, but this is really important.”

“I know,” Peter says, his voice sounding sad and small, even to his own ears. “I’ll just close my eyes. Tell me when it’s over.” He almost jumps onto the ceiling when he feels an unexpected weight beside him on the bed. His eyes fly open to see Mr Stark getting comfortable, putting his arm around Peter’s shoulders and squeezing him tightly. 

“Come on,” Mr Stark says. “Eyes closed like you promised.”

Peter leans into him and squeezes his eyes shut. The only problem is that his other senses take over times ten when his eyes are closed. He can hear everything Dr Banner is doing. He hears the snap of a glove and a crinkle of some plastic, he can even sense Dr Banner’s proximity. It’s really just as good as having his eyes open, and he hates it.

“Hey,” Mr Stark says softly. “I can practically see your brain working in overdrive. What if we try to think about something else?”

“Like what?” Peter stiffens when Dr Banner ties the tourniquet around his bicep. 

“Make your hand into a fist,” Dr Banner says.

Mr Stark brushes a curl from his ear. “I don’t know. Like maybe how you won that old couple over in two minutes flat? Not even I could do that. They were hanging on your every word. I see a big future for you.”

Peter’s eyes pop open. “Really?”

“Eyes closed.” Mr Stark puts his hand over Peter’s face. “And yep. Really. I think when we reschedule the presentation, you should get up there with me and present it. That is, once you’re feeling a hundred percent better and all.”

Peter leans back into his shoulder while Mr Stark pulls his hand away. “I think I’d be a little nervous about it.”

“I’ve seen you knock ‘em out of the water during your academic decathlon stuff. This isn’t too different.”

“I don’t know. I mean, that’s just saying the answer quick and everyone looks away from you. This would be a bunch of people looking at me and listening to me all the time. Ow!” There’s a pinch on his arm, and he opens his eyes.

With a click, the needle is drawn out of his arm, leaving the tiny plastic catheter in its place. Dr Banner quickly puts a sticky sheet of plastic over it. “Keep your arm straight, okay?”

“That was it?” Peter looks down at his arm in shock. “I barely felt it.”

“Tony Stark, master of distraction,” Dr Banner mutters while he flushes the access and then hooks up two bags of fluid. “This one’s just some saline to keep you hydrated, and this smaller one here is to fight the infection. Now comes the worst part. I need to try and get those band-aids off.”

Peter leans back into Mr Stark’s shoulder, groaning. “One of my worst ideas yet,” he says. 

“Yeah, bud,” Mr Stark says. “But Dr Banner’s going to be as gentle as he can. Why don’t you close your eyes again. I think it’s best if you don’t watch.”

Peter watches Dr Banner pull on another pair of gloves and then lean over the wound before he squeezes his eyes closed yet again. The pain is excruciating as Dr Banner pulls each band-aid one by one, away from Peter’s inflamed skin, but finally, he has them all off. The next thing Peter knows is something wet and cold is hitting the area, so his eyes pop open to see Dr Banner flushing out the wound. He relaxes back and tries to take some slow, deep breaths.

“There we go,” Dr Banner says. “Worst is over. Now we just put a good bandage on it—” He gives Peter a look. “—and then let the medicine work. Unfortunately, that means you’re stuck here for the next twenty four hours.” 

“Aw, come on,” Peter says, watching while Dr Banner uncaps a sharpie and starts to draw a line on his abdomen. “What are you doing?”

“This is so we can make sure the infection isn’t spreading,” Dr Banner explains. He draws a circle around the wound, separating Peter’s normal skin from the red, inflamed looking skin. “I’m going to check this in the morning to make sure the redness hasn’t crossed the line.

Peter finds that interesting, but he’s more concerned about having to spend the night in the med-bay. “Can I at least go to my room?”

“With that IV drip, you’re going to need a nurse to check on you.” Dr Banner’s eyes flicker to Mr Stark’s, and his mouth raises at one end. “But Tony can stay with you if he wants. I’ll wheel in another bed. Or he can sleep in the recliner if he wants.”

“Thanks a lot,” Mr Stark mutters. “You wheel in that bed. I’ll decide what’s more comfortable later. And I might change my mind in the middle of the night, so I like to have options.”

Dr Banner rolls his eyes, pushing the metal cart to the side and then taking off his gloves and gown before tossing them into the hamper by the door. “Whatever you want.” He turns back around to look at Peter. “I’ll be back to check on you in the morning. Stay in bed, for the love of all that is holy. Please, Peter. Promise me. Or I’m going to have alarms installed on this room. I can do that, you know.”

Peter holds up his hands, wincing because he bent the arm with the IV in it. He quickly straightens it out. “I promise, Dr Banner. Thanks for helping me.”

Dr Banner smiles gently. “You’re welcome, Peter. I’ll be right back with that extra bed for you, Tony.”

“Thanks, Brucie!” Mr Stark says just before the door clicks shut.

“Have I ever told you you make a really good pillow?” Peter says with a yawn after it’s quiet for a few moments. He closes his eyes and snuggles into Mr Stark’s shoulder. “You can just stay right there tonight.”

“Yeah,” Mr Stark says, rubbing his shoulder affectionately. “I’ve heard that a few times. Go to sleep, Underoos. We’ll deal with your scary aunt in the morning.”

Peter is vaguely aware of Dr Banner coming back into the room with the bed and having a short conversation with Mr Stark before the lights go out and the door clicks shut once more. He’s just about to drift off when Mr Stark’s phone begins to vibrate, and Peter cracks an eye open.

“Why the hell is Ted calling me?”

“Oh, no,” Peter mumbles under his breath.


End file.
